Bit of Trouble
by JohnlockIlluminati
Summary: There's a bit of trouble in London! From sad love to danger, nothing seems to stop tumbling down. When will this insanity end?
1. Help?

His pace was quickening.

It was to be expected, of course, seeing the situation. John Watson, a short blond haired army doctor, was probably going to die that day. Unless some hand pushed him along and said: "Don't let them get you."

Of course, there was no hand, and John wasn't thinking right. So he was caught.

It was a normal day at the crime scene, with everything going smoothly. All deductions were made and there was a fairly good idea of what had happened had been established. Pure luck brought John to this situation. It was unfair how he had to do it.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes was the world's only consulting detective. He was the London genius, the stubborn asshole who would help with your case if you weren't too boring to him. He didn't have many friends, if any at all.

Besides one, and that one had to go and get himself lost. It fucked Sherlock up knowing that he wasn't able to leave this situation. That's what Sherlock usually did. Not that he would've left. This friend was special.

Sherlock motherfucking loved this man. It wasn't a platonic love. It was a "you're my best friend but I'd marry you and fuck the shit out of you" love.

Unfortunately, the chances of that were pretty slim, especially if his friend couldn't be found.

* * *

John was feeling uncomfortable.

People were discussing how to get rid of him while he was sitting there, tied up. He wanted to shout at them, call for his friend, and just be a fucking boss and escape.

As usual with John's life, however, he had no power.

So he sat there as masked strangers discussed his demise.

Something caught his eye moments later. A lock of grey, flat hair that looked oddly familiar. He brushed the thought off.

"It couldn't be him," John thought. But it was pretty damn blatant. This person was no villain. In fact, it was a person John was glad to see.

* * *

Sherlock was told to stay at Baker Street. It was the only direction his friend gave him before he went on his outing to buy something special. What the item was, Sherlock did not know.

But he was determined to follow that simple direction. He would've loved to go find him and hug him and kiss him, but alas, he couldn't.

This fucked Sherlock up even more.

So Sherlock sat there, hating his life and watching the door, waiting for it to open.

What would Sherlock do if his friend never came back? The thought made his heart hurt, drew him nearly to sobs.

* * *

 _Well that's the end of the first chapter! Did you enjoy it? Man, I hope so, I worked hard on it. Expect more tomorrow or the day after! Make sure to drop some reviews if there is something specific you'd like!  
_


	2. Well, finally

John had to stifle a large gasp. "Lestrade?" he whispered, barely louder than a breath. Clearly, Gregory Lestrade had heard him, because his head tilted ever so slightly towards him.

John's brain was in no shape to ponder why Lestrade was there in the first place, but nevertheless he was fairly relieved.

Of course then he realized that there were fifteen to twenty armed men against John and the hidden Detective Inspector. So brawling was out.

"Er- excuse me, gentlemen?" John coughed. He had no clue how he had the strength to speak, or why he was speaking in the first place.

The group of males turned their heads quicker than a cheetah. Lestrade seemed to stiffen up and slowly turned towards John. He nodded to the doctor and John suddenly understood.

"It's a bit humid in here, isn't it?" he said, looking around as Greg silently disappeared behind the men.

* * *

Sherlock had never been so bored in his life.

How long could the police take? Of course, Sherlock knew it would take longer than he hoped, but seriously, there were only a few key places.

Sherlock's instinct almost pulled him out of 221B. But alas, he felt he should wait. It was almost a magnetic pull.

Unfortunately, Sherlock was a piece of metal. He couldn't leave.

* * *

John wasn't very good at keeping a conversation with a bunch of people planning on brutally murdering him. It was a bit nerve-wracking.

He put all his trust in Lestrade. Trust me, it was a bit of work.

But it all paid in.

The last thing John was expecting to hear was gunfire and sirens. Of course, it was something welcoming in John's mind. Police were good, correct?

It went surprisingly well. The officers actually took good care and used their minds for once. Of course, John expected Lestrade was bossing them around. Unfortunately, however, they neglected untying John for a large amount of minutes.

Once untied, John only had one thing on his mind.

He had a phone call to make.

* * *

 _This one's shorter, sorry! I had some trouble thinking how to write this! I think I did well, however. I hope you enjoy this chapter!_


	3. Back

What the hell was wrong with him?

John was surprisingly nervous to go back to his house. He was missing something… but what was it? It was making him angry, angrier than he'd been than the time he found a foot on the kitchen table.

The kicker was with all the commotion he completely forgot something that struck him as important. Oh well.

He knew that his friend would remember.

He is a genius, after all.

* * *

Sherlock's phone was neglected, left in the other room.

He couldn't have cared less. It was like a dagger in his side. And it was too small for his hands. Like goddamn, the buttons were tiny. It was annoying.

His mood was dark. 221B Baker Street was silent and sad. It didn't help that there was someone missing. Even thinking that his friend is in danger and that he couldn't help placed a heavy weight on his heart and restricted his breathing.

But he had to act like it didn't hurt. He was the high functioning sociopath after all. Mr. No-Emotion Holmes.

Sometimes he wished that was the case. But it seemed he had more emotions. Unfortunately, his emotions were certainly there.

He was too wrapped up in his thoughts to think at all.

* * *

John Watson rapped on the door of his flat. Hopefully his roommate would hear him. After waiting for around a minute, he knocked again, way louder.

Finally, he heard footsteps and the creak of the door in front of him. A gasp could be heard right in front of him.

A man, around six foot stood there, his cheeks glistening with what John assumed to be tears. He had black curly locks of hair and stunning eyes that trapped you in to his gaze.

"Damn, I almost forgot," he muttered, suppressing a smirk.

John really wished he could shag his best friend. Of course his friend wouldn't love him like he loved him. The man wasn't capable of it. He just didn't love John.

"John," he heard a soft, weak whisper as the door opened. Was he really sad? He couldn't be- it doesn't make sense, but John was okay with it.

"Sherlock," John breathed back.

* * *

 _Ugh, I had so many ideas and I'm so bad at implementing them into a story! Ugh. I hope this is good :-)._


	4. Lightning Bolt

Sherlock was breathless. His heart ached; he wanted to press his lips on John's. The thought made his knees weak.

"John," he croaked out, wanting a kiss. "John…"

His doctor… his army doctor. He wanted him.

Sherlock's mind went blank. He couldn't think straight… not that he was straight, anyways. The usually sharp and apparently emotionless detective was full of love.

John whispered back, "I'm here, Sherlock. I'm here."

John looked as though he almost felt as though Sherlock did. Sherlock reached out to touch his face. He felt a shiver as he touched the man.

He didn't care anymore. It didn't matter anymore. He sighed heavily, wanting, lusting. "John," he wanted to cry it louder. He went for it.

* * *

John couldn't believe what happened next. Sherlock was needy for him. He was crying before. Sherlock… cried? It didn't make any sense. Why would Sherlock be crying? Then he worked it out. Right as Sherlock went in to kiss.

Damn, it was magnificent. There was no shock. There was a fucking lightning bolt. John wasn't expecting it. The kiss was a perfect puzzle. It was built, finally.

It was most likely a full minute before they pulled away. John was panting and Sherlock's hair was messed up from where John grabbed it.

"Sherlock," John could barely breathe.

"John," Sherlock panted back, his lips looking again so kissable. "John, I've always wanted to do that."

"Dammit, Sherlock, I have too," John purred.

* * *

Sherlock felt golden. His tears barely fifteen minutes ago were nonexistent. "John… John, what does this mean?" he muttered.

John looked at Sherlock. Sherlock could tell there was affection in his eyes. He felt warm and complete inside.

"Whatever you want," he replied, locking eyes with Sherlock.

"John…" Sherlock sighed, "John… would you like to…"

"Yes, Sherlock," the doctor cut in, "Yes."

* * *

 _Extremely short, but my favorite chapter yet, haha. How did I do? :-)_


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